Righteous Anarchy
by Kaiyun
Summary: One man, alone in infected New York City must overcome his troubled past and nightmarish present to see what the future holds for the former Anarchist. This is my first fic and I do not own any part of RE. Rated for language and violence. Ch 5 up.
1. Unfamiliar Ceiling

Righteous Anarchy

Chapter 1: Arson

Mismatched eyes fluttered open, only to snap shut as the blinding light sent sharp waves of pain through the already aching head. Hands clutched shaggy hair, the left half natural brown and right dyed blonde, as the battered figure on the cold floor curled into a ball, trying to force the acidic burning from its eyes.

_You only have yourself to blame for being here..._

_Shut up, I know that..._

Alex Rivers gradually opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the yellow glow of the bare hanging bulb that was suspended just outside the cell door. The eyes peered about, the left a deep and soulful brown while the right was a light and chilling blue. His head throbbed and his vision seemed hazier than usual. Alex knew he didn't have perfect vision, but the optometrist had said he didn't need glasses either. His body ached with bruises from his arrest earlier that night. Apparently, the term _Police Brutality_ had been lost along with the rest of the world.

Alex groaned as pulled himself into a sitting position, using the wall to prop himself up. The world had gone to hell in a hand basket six months ago. The major pharmaceutical company, Umbrella, had been exposed by some hot shot former super cops as a manufacturer of bio organic weapons, or BOWs, and various viruses that had ravaged several small towns. STARS, that was who the super cops were; the elite of SWAT or something like that. Instead of just rolling over, Umbrella took over. Apparently, they had strong political ties to just about every major world government and enough of their BOWs and viruses that the world became their hostage. So far, most of the governments had collapsed, the United States well on its way to being one of them, and now everyone was on Umbrella's payroll. You agree with them or die, that simple. Alex didn't care one way or the other, not really liking the idea of authority, which had gotten him here in the first place.

Where exactly was here? He looked around, recognizing it as one of the temporary holding cells in the back rooms of the New York Police Department. No bed, no sink, no toilet, not even a chair. Four walls surrounding a four by six foot floor, three of concrete and one of steel bars. Everything was gray, dull, void of any manner of life. There was barely enough room for the man's five foot ten frame to stretch out on the floor, if he wanted to.

He was the only one here, the other inmates having been shipped out to whatever hell they were scheduled for. Prison was for the lucky ones. If you really pissed someone off, you would find yourself on a lab table in one of Umbrella's research facilities. Why hadn't anyone resisted the takeover? Well, they did, but they are either dead or hiding right now. Alex sighed. This had all happened in six months. He held a hand to his head, finding a large lump on the back of his skull but no blood or bone fragments so chances were he only had a _small_ concussion. He struggled to remember the night's events, snippets of memories playing like a projector on the fritz, the scenes coming in no particular order.

Sirens and flashing lights.

Sounds of someone pounding meat.

Pitiful moans for help.

Yelling.

Warmth of blood on his chest.

His boss at the store.

Red hands.

Fire, its glowing heat comforting...

He remembered it all now. Alex had been closing up the store around eleven thirty...

The metal shutter clattered and screeched as the young man of twenty-seven pulled it down over the front of the small, New York City convenience store where he had worked for the past nine years. Mr. Loch was probably upstairs snorting his nightly lines of cocaine with the hooker he had come in with two hours ago, leaving it up to Alex to, as usual, close the store. He practically ran the place; his boss' addiction became more and more prominent as the weeks went by. The young man sat down behind the scratched and cracked glass counter on the thinly padded stool, fumbling for his keys to the register. There were dull thumps coming from the apartment upstairs that he shared with Loch, since it was all he could afford, as the supervisor and his 'company' played in the euphoria of the narcotics. Alex had learned to block it out years ago and resumed fighting with the register's lock. It finally granted the key entrance and, after a muttered explicative or two and some jiggling of the key, it opened. Business had been halfway decent today, the small establishment pulling in a full two hundred fifty-seven dollars and forty-one cents. The best day they'd had in several months. Alex recorded two hundred seven dollars and forty-one cents in the ledger beside the register before pocketing three tens and a twenty. He always skimmed some off the top since his coke addict of a boss always squandered both their paychecks on blow and never stopped to think about food. He closed the small book and put it and the money in the small safe behind the oversized toilet paper display near the beer.

_Hmm. Don't mind if I do._

He popped the cap off a randomly selected bottle and took a long pull. Oh the joys of working in a convenience store. Alex jumped and sputtered, spilling his pilfered drink on his clean shirt, as something upstairs crashed. Yelling filtered down, mostly indiscernible gibberish, but the tone was definably angry. He set the long neck down and quietly made his way up the back stairs in the storage room to the cramped apartment. His hand hovered over the discolored brass doorknob for a moment, debating whether or not he should enter. Alex had always tried to avoid confrontation, never having been a strong fighter. Studying chemistry and dodging blows from bullies, at school and home, didn't tend to leave much time for physical training. The woman's scream of pain and terror from behind the paper-thin door decided for him. There was a prominent crack, like the dry snap of a chicken bone, followed by a bump and she stopped screaming. Alex threw the door open and was met by the sight of the grossly overweight Julius Loch, wearing only boxer shorts and standing over a broken and bleeding woman. She wasn't moving; her own blood splattered across her face and exposed breasts. Apparently they had been in the process of redressing when the altercation began because she wore a half zipped skirt at her waist that covered her other regions. Something snapped inside Alex, a buried memory coming to life as a fiery rage as he saw the handiwork of his boss. Loch was breathing heavily, the white powder around his flaring nostrils mingling with the mucus that encrusted on his handlebar moustache, making it look as greasy as his unwashed mop of hair on his head. Alex took two steps and swung his fist with all his strength before the drugged man could react. Pain shot up his forearm as the appendage connected solidly with Loch's temple. The fat man crumpled like a sack of flour to the dull yellow linoleum that comprised the majority of the floor. Alex fell on him, and pounded bruised fists into Julius' face against and again, screaming at the man that hadn't moved since the initial strike. When it was over, when the adrenaline had subsided and vision returned to the enraged man, reality hit him like a train. Loch's face was caved in and shattered, each feature undistinguishable from the next in the pile of ground meet that met his terrified gaze. Alex scrambled off the swollen gut in horror as his stomach lurched and churned. Vomit exploded from his mouth and splattered on the already stained couch, not making much difference in the color. He stayed on his hands and knees, coughing up the meager contents of his stomach. His whole body shook and he felt weak and helpless, frozen to the spot with fear of what he had done.

You killed him... 

_I didn't mean to..._

_Of course you did..._

_I was just trying to help the girl..._

_He deserved it..._

_No one deserves to die..._

_Quit whining and help her..._

Alex shook the voice from his head, not so confident he had won the argument, and crawled over to the woman. He could tell from the slight rise and fall of her chest that she was breathing, but she wasn't moving other than that. Her hair matched the color of the bruises on her arms and her nose seemed to have been obliterated, blood flowing out at a steady stream. Was it safe to move her? He didn't know, medicine not exactly being his field of expertise. Quivering fingers struggled to hold the phone in place at his ear as he dialed 911, the number he had used to many times before.

"Please help me," He whispered into the receiver, as if Loch were still alive and listening. "My boss beat this woman and now she isn't moving and I don't know what to do." His voice quivered as he babbled, his sentences not having any structure other than that of rising panic. He wasn't that worried about the woman; she was just some cocaine addicted, hourly whore. There were hundreds more like her in the grand city of New York. His real panic was born from fear of the authorities finding out he killed Julius. He gave the address and rattled the pale green phone into its cradle under assurances that an ambulance would be there shortly. The silence hung in the air like some ghost, impishly threatening to tell all of Alex's secrets when the paramedics came. Gazing down, the crimson covered hands attached to his arms stared back up at him, threatening to reveal him. They whispered to his psyche...

We're gonna tell... 

He ran to the bathroom, thrusting his hands under the cold, yellow tinged water, trying to scrub the blood from his flesh.

We're gonna tell... 

The blood refused to come off his knuckles. The more he scrubbed, the more wet red would appear on his skin.

We're gonna tell... 

Alex stopped, the cold water stinging his lesioned hands as he held them beneath the crusty faucet. The blood was his own. From scraping so hard at his skin, the dermis had broken in several small places. He breathed in relief, but only for a moment as the sounds of wailing sirens reached his ears.

They're going to find Loch! 

He scampered out of the bathroom and back into the main room. She probably shouldn't be moved, but he couldn't let those people find the body of his former employer. There weren't trials and courts with nice, long, fifteen-year waits on death row. He would be shipped out that night to a research facility so those Umbrella psychos could experiment on him. Avoiding that was worth the life of one doped up street tramp. Alex pulled her into his arms and stuttered down the stairs, nearly dropping her several times in his haste. Her head clipped the doorframe as he exited out of the ally side door, headed for the street. He made it to the sidewalk just as the 'ambulance' showed up. The usual red cross had been replaced by the topside view of a red and white umbrella. Everyone knew that the hospitals were controlled and supplied by Umbrella who chose to smear its logo feces over everything medical. The paramedics jumped out of the back with a gurney while the passenger took the girl from Alex's arms. No one said anything to him, or even looked at him as they strapped her to the dull white gurney and loaded her into the back. Without a word between them, the ambulance was off and speeding for the hospital.

Alex stood, staring dumbly at the road the ambulance disappeared down. Slowly he turned and was confronted by the metal shutters that hid the store he hated. Upstairs was the body of a man who he had hated. A shudder passed through him of disgust at himself for even trying to rationalize it. Slowly, he made his was back into the store and upstairs where he collapsed in a under stuffed armchair. He had done something terribly wrong, and he had to go all the way with it or he would be caught.

There was one thing that could hide anything, Alex knew. Fire. Alex had learned, through research and occasional experimentation, how to create various explosives through his love of chemistry. Once he arrived in New York nine years ago, he had joined an anarchist group who shared his views on the government called Absolute Freedom. He supplied explosives for their exploits of terrorism for a generous sum of money until they were caught last year. Few people were ever harmed, as their goal was to cause chaos, not to fill morgues. Now, Alex was the only member of AF left in the city. The others had either been arrested or fled to New Jersey.

He went to his room and grabbed his duffle bag. Various chemicals and packets of powder, all packed in stabilized containers to keep them from mixing or rupturing went into the duffle. He was going to make sure there was no evidence. The whole building was going to be destroyed. A denim jacket slid onto his arms and shoulders to ward off the October chill when he left. The bag was set down in the room next to the body. Since incinerating it was his main goal, he thought that it was the logical place to put the bag. Chances were, if Alex ever needed to make bombs again, which was doubtful, he knew where to find supplies and he had enough money hidden in the old AF hideout that he didn't need to worry too much about it. The arsonist took a length of slow fuse from the duffle and a strike-anywhere match. The white head seemed to beg, calling out to him.

_Light me..._

_Let me make it all disappear..._

_Just one stroke and it will all be over..._

Alex obeyed. The fuse was burning and Alex was outside in minutes. The fuse was long enough that he didn't have to run, but a brisk walk should get him far enough away to not get hit by any debris. The streets were always deserted this time of night, people not wanting to risk being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alex froze as a black and white police car rounded the corner in front of him.

_Oh sh-_

The explosion illuminated the car all the more clearly, and more importantly, the startled faces of the officer and his partner in the front seat. Had Alex been experienced at doing the actual bombings and not just making them, he would have acted as if it surprised him as much as the officers then told an elaborate lie to get out of trouble. But he didn't have experience bombing buildings so all he did was stand, rooted to the spot by fear, and stare at the cops. When they got out of the car, his brain ceased thinking and he did the worst possible thing. Alex ran.

The arsonist sat in his cell, wincing at the memory. They had caught him before he made it ten paces and claimed he was resisting arrest. That was their excuse, anyway, for raining blow after blow with their nightsticks on his curled up body. No one responded to his cries of pain, just like they hadn't responded when the kids at school teased him about having two different eyes. Just like no one listened when his father beat him in a drunken rage. After unconsciousness had graced Alex with its presence, he awoke here in the cell with nothing but a headache and charges of arson and resisting arrest. This just wasn't his night.

What Alex didn't realize, however, was that the lady of the night he had rescued, had suffered a bite on her thigh by a particularly rough client that smelled like he had died and didn't know it. She couldn't have been more right. He was still unconscious in his cell when she awoke in the hospital. The doctors had been trying to inject her with something with a purple bluish tint to it. Realizing where she was, she thrashed and in the resulting pandemonium, a green vial fell into her purse. They finally got the T-virus antidote into her and did what little they could for her nose. The staff gathered some clothes together for her and sent her on her way. About the time Alex awoke, she tripped on the curb and landed on the purse, hearing the crunch of glass through the haze of pain relievers.


	2. Vows and Viruses

Righteous Anarchy

Chapter 2: Vows and Viruses

Lilah Sapphire lay awake in her small but comfy bed of her apartment. She resided in a one-room apartment just a block away from St. James Catholic Church. The young girl was bursting with excitement with anticipation.

_Two days, just two more days and I will take my final vows and become a Nun!_

She snuggled her petite frame deeper into the soft sheets, strands of frizzy brown hair splayed all across the white pillow. Lids closed over her big brown eyes that still sparkled with child like innocence even after twenty-two years of life, seeming to defy the laws of time. Lilah heard her father's stern yet soft voice speaking in her head to go to sleep.

_Sleep now, Lilly Princess, or you won't be able to open your eyes and see the sun when it comes up in the morning._

Every morning, Lilah would wake up and sit at her window with her morning cup of juice to watch the sun rise to welcome the new beautiful day. To her, every day was more glorious than the last, even when it was rainy or stormy, because each day new lives were brought into God's wonderful world. Six months ago, the sun seemed to be more and more hesitant to come greet her each morning. Even she knew that the change in seasons didn't make the sun _that_ late. Now it didn't fully rise until almost nine o'clock, when she was about to head over to the church for Father Micah's services. It was almost as if the sun's light was growing weaker to a world sinking in the darkness of Umbrella's black shadow. Lilah sighed and reopened her eyes. She just couldn't get her mind to quiet down so she could sleep. The dim green numbers on her digital alarm clock, probably the most expensive thing she owned, stated proudly that it was one seventeen in the morning.

"Ooh. Quiet down up there so I can get to sleep!" She squeaked at her own thoughts in mock frustration. The young woman's mind apparently listened because she was asleep in a matter of minutes, happily dreaming of her life as a nun.

Alex was still staring blankly at the ceiling from on his back, trying to find some way to pass the time when an alarm sounded, a repetitive alternation of annoying noise and silence.

_Holychristhell!_

The blare shattered the monotonous silence and shocked him onto his feet before he knew it. The young man looked around, barely hearing the pounding boots of dozens of officers as they ran past his cell over the unrelenting buzzer. After a few minutes, Alex was ready to rip his ears off and scream if the alarm didn't stop soon, then all was quiet. The same officers ran past again, this time going in the opposite direction, but this time they wore the rigid black riot armor complete with fully automatic weapons.

_What the hell is going on? Was someone stupid enough to attack the Police? I hope they get me out of here..._

Alex pressed himself against the bars of his cell, trying to look down the hall in the direction the armor-clad police had run.

_They looked serious, like they were going out to kill someone..._

He saw a guard, a portly man who looked like he had been behind the dispatch desk for most of his life with a stereotypical box of doughnuts. The man was walking towards his cell, acting as the lone guard put on duty to make sure the prisoner didn't try and escape, and Alex knew well enough to back away from the door. These guys always looked for any excuse to use brute force on inmates, but Alex had to know what was happening.

"Excuse me, Officer," He began tentatively, causing the rounded man to turn on him with a sneer. The little watery eyes and small nose made him look like a fat rat, but Alex kept that little observation to himself.

"What the hell do you want?" The man had less charm than the baton gripped tightly with frustration in the wide hand.

"What's happening? Why is everyone running around?"

"Mind your own damn business." The black stick banged the cell bars, releasing a low toned ring and making Alex wince involuntarily. The guard moved on, satisfied that he had effectively dealt with the delinquent. Alex sank down against the back wall, convinced he would not get anything from Mister Fat Rat there unless he miraculously turned into some insanely gorgeous woman with very little clothing. That was something he doubted would happen to the fully denim clad young man. He looked at his watch; remembering the times when they put him into a detainment cell only after an extensive strip search for any items that could be used to get out, commit suicide, or homicide. Now, it didn't matter because the officers were allowed to use any force they wished, necessary or unnecessary, and didn't really care if the detainees decided to kill themselves or each other.

It was four in the morning, almost five hours since he committed his first homicide. At least that wasn't on his list of charges, yet. Chances are they would find evidence of a person living there, but no body, making the charges remain at arson and resisting arrest.

_Fat lot of good it will do me. Probably already have a bus on its way to pick me up and take me to my very own lab, where I get to be the rat..._

Gunfire broke into his thoughts, the sounds of semi automatic booms and the high clatter of machine guns bringing him to the bars once more.

_I'll be damned! Someone really _is_ attacking the Police Department!_

Alex felt a surge of joy tingle through him and was determined to plant a big wet kiss on the person who let him out of his cell. He heard screams, some getting closer as the gunfire became louder and louder. His thoughts started to drift from the kiss he was going to give, and a certain fear began to settle. Then the voices became clearer and he could decipher separate comments.

"Oh God they won't die!"

"Hold the line! Don't let them through!"

"They keep coming!"

"Jesus! Where did they all come from!?"

"Fall back! Fall back! Jenkins! I said fall b-"

The command was cut short abruptly by a gurgling scream of agony that was quickly crushed as if the person's throat had been ripped out.

Now Alex was really afraid. He had heard the rumors of what happened during the spill in Raccoon, what it did to the population. They turned into walking corpses, the flesh rotting off their bones as they feasted on any flesh they could grab. Mister Fat Rat came running down the hall; well he was waddling as fast as his short legs could carry him, his standard issue nine millimeter drawn and ready. His face was pallid, like he was going to be sick at any given moment but was determined to try and help his fellow officers.

"Hey!" Alex called. "Let me out of here before they kill me too!" His voice was bordering on panic, his chest tightening with the prospect of death. He didn't want to die, always afraid of his own death. So he wasn't exactly a big hero, big deal, he didn't care. If all life was precious, then so was his own.

The cop reached Alex's cell and stopped, giving the young man a quick glance before unclipping and throwing the keys to the cell. It was his job to protect the people; that was the oath he had taken when he signed up for the Department, and that was what he was going to do. What the officer didn't know, however, was that one should make sure the keys had reached their target before running off. The object of Alex's freedom bounced off the bars and skidded back to the hallway.

"Hey Cop!" He shouted. "The keys missed! Guard? Guard!" There was no answer; the fat man was probably dead by now. Alex tried to see around the concrete wall of his cell in an attempt to see what was going on. It was then that he noticed the silence. He hadn't realized the screams and gunfire has stopped, so focused on the keys and his own self-preserving thoughts. Then there was the smell. It was like the time he had left the uneaten pork chop in his mini fridge for three weeks without realizing it. It was the sickly sour odor of rotten meat, the sharp tang permeating his very skin leaving him feeling unclean and violated.

_That doesn't make sense. The cops just died so how could they decompose that...fast...oh crap..._

A moan floated down the corridor, echoing faintly off the walls as the cop killers made there way into the detention wing. Another joined it, then another, and another, until there was a whole chorus of unearthly hungers reaching through the sounds for him. The rumors of the undead were true.

Alex dropped to the hard gray floor and stretched his right arm between the bars. He had to get out of there before they reached him. The key ring lay just beyond his middle finger, the tip able to feel the cool metal as its reflective surface winked at him. It was teasing him, acting like the woman in a bar who would completely enthrall a man, but never give in to him, staying just out of his reach until he became a blithering idiot for her. The idiot stretched, his shoulder slipping between the wrought iron and his face pressing against a bar. His sweaty fingers finally coaxed the keys into their grasp as he heard the slow shuffle of feet making their way down the hallway. Their tortured voices of the undead growing, always growing and bearing down on him like a physical entity. Bile rose in his throat and his eyes stung with the putrid reek. He swallowed and wrenched his shoulder free from the pinching bars, falling back on his rump and he scampered back to the wall like a rodent who just stole the Gouda. Alex's right shoulder burned lightly, but he ignored it. He had the keys. He was going to get out. The now optimistic man opened his palm and looked at the life saving metal pieces. His face fell at the vast assortment of no less than thirty keys.

_Oh shit..._

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! : )


	3. Awakening

Righteous Anarchy

Chapter 3: Awakening

_Biohazard Report _

__

_0500: New York City has been contaminated. A sample was lost and distress calls to local authorities have become less frequent, the last having been at 4:46 am. All exits n the island have been destroyed or sealed except the Brooklyn Bridge, which will remain open for insertion of BOWs to contain and destroy the infection in the quarantine zone. Use of local Reapers authorized. None will be dropped in, as it will not be cost effective. UBCS is to evacuate all Umbrella personnel, leaving other test subjects behind._

Bellevue Hospital was full of panicked patients and staff alike. Just a few miles south of them, a T-virus epidemic had broken out. Rumors where floating around that it had started just outside of Club Fahrenheit, infecting thousands immediately. Doctor Elaine Pell sat down, no longer able to stand. Her shift was supposed to have ended three hours ago, but with the epidemic, she had to stay and help calm the patients. The building had been sealed off completely from the outside, so on the off chance that carriers did come this way they wouldn't infect any of the people within the concrete and glass building. She had already sedated half of the hospital's population to keep them from becoming hysterical and their thorosine supply was nearly gone. To make matters worse, the patients in the psych ward were becoming more restless and unpredictable, like dogs that knew a storm was coming. The tall blonde looked around at the doctors and other staff rushing about madly like bees in a hive. Her eyes lingered on the silver elevator, the blue orbs widening when she looked at the floor numbers. The little light indicated it was on the fifth basement level, the restricted level. Slowly, the numbers began illuminating as the elevator began its journey up. Someone had called it down, but there was no one in the basement. It had been evacuated and sealed off to keep the labs clean and safe from infection. Whoever was down there was certainly going to get an earful from her boss. With the generic _ping_ the doors opened on the twenty-first floor, her floor. There were twenty-five total known floors in the old hospital, plus the four extra basement levels that the public had no clue about. Elaine had never been down there herself, but she had heard stories of Umbrellas new BOWs that they were allegedly creating beneath the surface. She looked up from her thoughts as the doors opened. Two young men, two young women, a young boy, and a young girl stepped from the box like interior of the elevator. They were all clad in military uniforms with a sidearm strapped to the adults' hip along with a belt of spare clips, to many to count. The children, no more than ten years old, each had dual combat knives attached to their legs. On the right arm of all six, there was a patch that said 'REAPER' in capital black letters. Their eyes were orange, flecked with red and reminded Elaine of some feral animal.

_Who the Hell-_

The screams of the patients did not penetrate the sound proof walls, nor could the remotely locked doors open or the thick windows break as the Reapers went about their work. Their objective was to destroy anyone and everyone who could be a potential carrier, and that included everyone in Bellevue Hospital Center. Oddly enough, there was not a single shot fired, lest a window break and the people try and escape.

_This one?...No...This one?...No...This one?...Dammit!_

Alex nearly dropped the keys as he cycled through them, attempting to find the right one to his cell. For all their revolutionary advances in crime stopping technology, you would think the police could have invested in a better system to lock and unlock the damned cells! He had ruled out about half the keys, recognizing car, house and padlock keys. Then there were some that were just plain weird shaped that couldn't possibly fit the lock. That left roughly fifteen different possibilities that would set him free, and if he didn't find which one it was, and soon, life would get a whole lot shorter. Alex pressed his face briefly against the bars, trying to gauge how much time he had to get out of there before the diseased ate him alive and he became one of them. There was one carrier outdistancing the rest, but it was still coming slowly. The man guessed he had about thirty seconds before escape ceased to be an option. The next key stuck in the lock, but refused to turn.

_Come on you scrap metal damned piece of-_

Click. The key turned and his cell opened, creaking outward on its old hinges. He let out a cheer for himself but it was short lived as a rotten hand clamped down on his shoulder. A shriek escaped his lips and he batted the hand off, falling away from the walking corpse. Alex slammed his steel toe sneaker into the thing's knee, causing it to fall and giving him time to get back to his feet. He grabbed the dangling set of keys, thinking they might come in useful later on, snapping the cell's off in the lock. A stumbling scramble later and he was on his feet, running from the wave of living dead that were packed into the corridor of cells. They moaned and grunted, begging for a few bites of his tender muscles. Their hungry groaning promised a slow and painful death followed by a cursed life, a life Alex wanted no part of

Alex reached the office at the end of the hall and slammed the door shut, locking it from the inside with a twist of his wrist. He looked up at his new surroundings and sighed with relief. It was a rec room for the off duty officers, complete with a pool table and three vending machines. There was also a small window leading outside on the right wall. A wet gurgle emitted from his midsection when he looked at the food. It had been a while since he had last eaten, and the trail mix did look appetizing.

_I've always wanted to do this... _

The man walked up to the snack vendor and looked it over carefully, then slammed his elbow as hard as he could into the glass casing. Pain shot up his arm before an almost paralyzing numbness settled into the limb as the unyielding front came in contact with his funny bone. Alex shot a glare of pure hatred at the quivering but unbroken pane of the machine as he nursed his tingling arm.

_Damned safety glass..._

He looked around for something he could use to smash his way to his food with but the room had nothing except a metal trashcan, four pool cues, and a set of billiard balls. He had ruled out the couch because it looked as if he could hardly budge the thing. The can looked sturdy enough, and had a good bit of weight to it when Alex picked it up. He raised it above his head and brought it down hard against the glass with a screeching crunch. Nothing. The pane between him and his peanuts still stood. The trashcan had turned out to be low-grade aluminum and had practically crumbled on impact. It sailed through the air and bounced off the wall, leaving an irregular hole in the drywall, propelled by a frustrated hand.

"Dammit!" Then he looked at the billiard balls and an idea came to mind, bringing a small smirk. Alex selected one at random, coming up with the six ball. He remembered playing pool in some random bar with Loch with the older man plastered and still stomping the younger into the floor. He shook away the memory, not wanting to bring up the images of the events that led him here in the first place. Alex hefted the ball, tossing it in one hand a few times to estimate the weight of the orb before hurling it like a baseball into the machine. The clear wall that had caused him so much frustration shattered and the ball scattered glass fragments and mixed nuts all over the floor. Stepping carefully, the hungry man made his way to the machine where he grabbed all the snacks he could carry and dropped it off on the couch. He filled his arms twice more before finally sitting down next to his pile of food. He smashed a pool cue over the front of the drink machine, thinking a ball would repaint the room in carbonated stickiness, and was rewarded with two bottles of water and a fruit drink from some obscure company. He added them to his stash of trail mix, nuts, and honey buns. Hungry, Alex plopped down on the couch and began eating, washing down the salty and sweet with swigs from the fruit drink, which tasted a bit like peaches.

_I know I have to leave, to get out of here, but why rush? I have food and drink here, and a nice place to rest-_

_Wham! _He nearly choked on a mouthful of peanuts, sending the little buds spraying over the low coffee table.

_Someone's knocking..._

It sounded like only one, as the pounding continued on the fake wooden door, but then more thuds and slams as the undead hammered mindlessly on the door, their moans and groans of starvation floating in. Alex tried to calm himself, attempting to push away the rising panic in his chest.

_Its okay, I don't need to worry. That door can hold them off for a good long while..._

_Crunch! _The door shuddered and powdery splits started to appear on his side of the door.

_Or not! _

Alex scrambled to his feet, stuffing as many packets of snacks in his pockets as possible and the two bottles of water in the larger inside pockets of his denim jacket. Snatching up a pool cue, he glanced at the door as the pounding persisted, almost seeming to increase as small sections of the door began to give. His chest seemed to tighten around his heart and lungs.

_Stay calm...Don't panic... _

An arm gouged a hole in the dusty portal and reached through, groping blindly for flesh to consume as the grunting and groaning rose to a crescendo.

_Panic! Have to get out! NOW!_

His adrenal glands kicked into action and Alex scampered onto the couch and slammed the butt end of the pool cue against the glass, flinching and turning his head away as the wood made contact. The thin windowpane shattered and Alex used the cue to knock away the remaining shards sticking out wickedly from the edges. The window was about four feet tall and two wide with a low shrub on the other side just below the ledge. As the door crumbled and the corpses fell over each other getting into the small room, Alex pulled himself though the opening and tumbled out of the bush onto the sidewalk.

_A/N Thanks to mimi-having-fun and Scarred-Angel for reviewing, as well as anyone else whose review simply hasn't shown up yet! _:)


	4. The Bridge

Righteous Anarchy

Chapter 4: The Bridge

Lilah sat up in bed, stretching her thin arms wide as she woke up to another of God's beautiful new days. She wrapped her tattered pink robe about herself and pattered over to the mini fridge for her juice. The orange liquid swirled and foamed slightly as its level rose in the glass, coming just short of the brim before the girl stopped pouring. Capping the carton depicting a picture of an orange, she put it back into the cold appliance among the boxes of take-out. She loved Chinese food, tasty and easy to afford. Taking her glass in both hands, almost child-like, she padded to the second story window to wait for the sun to rise. The sky was gray, dark and foreboding. It made her shiver looking at the colorless expanse, reminding her of her cellar in her father's house. It was out in the country, away from the jungle of concrete, glass, and asphalt. The air had smelled fresh outside and there weren't so many people. But that cellar scared Lilah more than anything else. It was dark and wet and always full of spiders.

The spiders were the more terrifying aspects of that room. Their bloated bodies carried by eight spindly legs and the fanged mouths dripping toxin as if drooling at the sight of her. Lilah quickly dismissed the thought, trying to quell feeling the approaching panic attack. She had been diagnosed with arachnophobia at the tender age of six, not all that surprising considering that she froze in fear whenever she saw a spider. She had described it to the doctor as not being able to move or even think when she saw one, she just felt the fear gripping her and that was that.

She couldn't see the sun as it rose, only the lightening of the empty street below.

_Wait...the streets are never empty..._

Lilah had never been counted among the intelectually gifted, but it was obvious that something wasn't right. No honking horns, no sirens or yelling. The city, or at least a mile surrounding her apartment had gone silent. Another icy shiver crawled up her spine. She set down her juice, untouched by her lips, and quickly dressed in her Novice habit. The black, unrevealing dress with the white collar made her feel more comfortable, like a layer of armor that reinforced her faith in God which she always carried in her heart for protection.

Making sure her bible, keys and wallet were in her off-white canvas shoulder bag, the young Novice opened the door to her apartment, locked it, and closed it after she left. She took the stairs, believing that one mustn't get to lazy using modern inventions. Only those who can't move to well should use the elevator in the young woman's opinion.

"Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen..." She counted backwards as she went down the steps, not taking them too fast like her father always told her. "Eleven, ten, nine..."Counting the stairs had always been a small game for her since she was a child. It held no real significance, but it was fun for her. "Four, three, two, and one!" She hopped off the last step, her shoes clacking on the hardwood floor, and walked down the short corridor, stopping at the last door. There hung a black metal sign with white letters that spelled 'Landlord'. Three times, her frail looking knuckles tapped the door.

"Miss Terry?" She called, just above a whisper, not wanting to disturb any other residents. It had become customary that Lilah would say goodbye to the elderly woman every morning before she was off to church for morning prayers. There was no reply. Again she knocked, and again there was no answer. "Miss Terry?" Her voice was slightly louder this time. The landlady was so very nice to her, always inviting Lilah down to her room for cookies and sometimes dinner. Lilah always made sure she paid her rent on time, not wanting to disappoint Miss Terry. She waited patiently at the door, knowing it would open in a few seconds. But it didn't. Lilah tilted her head to one side, not sure what was going on. She shrugged. Miss Terry was probably just sleeping in. The lady had been slightly ill the last couple of days, the flu most likely. She didn't like doctors and refused to go see one so Lilah prayed for Miss Terry's health every night.

"Get better soon!" She whispered through the keyhole before skipping her way to the lobby. It was a quaint little room with an old wooden door and a dusty couch that had an end table on either side. There were aged paintings on the walls, replicas of masterpieces by famous artists that Lilah couldn't identify and an old payphone by the service desk.

_It's getting awfully dusty in here. I'll have to ask Miss Terry if I can clean up for her..._

She opened the wooden door that led into the space between the outer glass door and the afore mentioned inner door. There was a man standing at the glass, moaning and pawing at the transparent wall, leaving red streaks on its surface. Lilah let out a frightened squeak, falling back into the room and away from the sick man. He was indeed not well, his very skin seeming to sag off his bones and the eyes white and sightless. The clothes were wet with blood, making them appear too large for him as the weighted material drooped heavily off the already thin frame. Slowly, he was erased from view as the wooden door slowly swung shut of its own accord, almost as if it wanted to shield the garish sight from the young woman's view.

_Oh no! He needs help, but I don't know what to do!_

Lilah didn't know anything about medical practice so she scampered to the payphone and dialed 911. She was answered by three computerized musical notes and a woman's voice that sounded to happy for the situation.

"We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is currently unavailable due to disconnected lines. Please try again later or call your local telephone management company for assistance" The same three notes played again. "We're sorry, but the number you have dialed..."

(since this thing won't let me put in a break, just imagine one here)

Alex looked back at the police station across Frankfort Street. Brooklyn Bridge was just overhead, and a very promising way out.

"Thank you, NYPD, for putting your building so close to the bridge." He breathed, a smile creeping onto his features once more. He looked west down the street in the direction of City Hall and the entrance to the bridge, his dissimilar eyes squinting through the slight blur. The traffic was gridlocked half a block down, as if Alex hadn't been the only one to think of the bridge as a good escape. Something was missing from it though. There were no horns, no shouts obscene words in numerous different languages. It was completely silent except the sounds of idling engines.

_Maybe if they are all empty, I could snag on from the front of the line and get out of this place all the quicker..._

Cautiously, Alex picked his way through the metal labyrinth toward the bridge entrance, peering in the cars for any cash or wallets left behind. His pool cue was ideal for busting windows that weren't already shattered to get at the goods. No harm in making the best of the situation. By the time he reached the on-ramp, he had made himself a good seventy dollars, which he folded and added to the fifty in his pocket. He noticed that the closer he came to the bridge, the more messed up the cars were. Some had large claw marks in the paneling and blood visible from the outside. The escapee was in good spirits, if a little cautious about the condition the cars were getting into, by the time he came upon a police car. It had also apparently trying to make a run for it using its authority as a shield. There were large gashes all over the body of the vehicle and bullet holes in the windshield. It was empty as well, much to Alex's amusement, and the door half open. He set down the pool cue and crawled inside, looking for a baton or a more useful weapon than his stick that was propped against the hood. He found a lot of dried bloodstains and spent handgun casings as well as a single shotgun shell along with a pump action shotgun. He took the weapon and cocked it to get a feel for the weapon, sending a round spinning into the crack between the two seats.

_Crap...now where did that thing go..._

He rummaged around in the crack, the shotgun leaning against the passenger seat, and came up with a five dollar bill, a half eaten doughnut (at which he snickered), and his elusive shell. Alex sat back in the driver's seat, not really in a big hurry. He laid the bulky gun across his lap and tried to figure out how to load his two shells into it. His father had never let him near guns in his youth, and Mister Loch had always kept the long breechloader under lock and key. Well, under lock anyway. The key had been missing for weeks now.

He found a rectangle on the right side, just behind where the accidentally ejected shell popped out of, and pressed it lightly. The flap gave, snapping back into place when he released it. The hole was a bit larger than the shell he had in his hand and seemed like the obvious way to load it. He pushed the shell inside, noting with satisfaction that it stayed and disappeared when the flap closed. Alex loaded the second shell the same way and adjusted his grip on the weapon so it felt comfortable. He pulled the pump, making sure the next round was ready to go, and again, another shell went spinning off into the recesses of the between-the-seats void.

_Damn it...not again..._

He groped blindly for the red cylinder for a few seconds before his fingers closed around something round. The young man pulled his hand out and opened the curled fingers to find a severed thumb resting in his palm.

_SHITCHRISTJESUS!!!_

Alex flung the digit away and fell out of the car with a terrified shriek, the shotgun sliding a few feet away under a blue sedan. Shakily, he sat up, ruefully rubbing his jarred elbow as the image of the thumb stayed present in his mind. He shook his arm, trying to rid himself of the tingling sensation.

_Whoever came up with_ funny bone_, I am really gonna give them something to laugh at..._

He looked up to see what looked like a gorilla with leathery hide instead of fur. Its flat, reptilian skull harbored two, beady eyes that gleamed a fierce orange. The long, corded arms nearly reached to white hood of the patrol car its short legs had dug into. What really grabbed Alex's attention were the wicked talons that ended the strong fingers and the numerous pointed teeth in his drooling mouth. That toothy maw stretched wide and a sound that could only be described as a combination chorus of screaming babies and howling wolves ripped through the early morning air and Alex's eardrums. It leapt impossibly high into the air and came down like a rock at the prone human. Fear snapped his attention back to the present and he propelled himself backwards on his butt, skidding along the pavement as a clawed hand slammed into the asphalt where his chest had been previously. His own sweaty hand closed around the barrel of the shotgun as the thing came for him and he swung with all his might, smashing the wooden stock across the thing's face. It screeched again, the sound ripping through Alex's brain like a razor as he got a firm hold on the gun's grip, screaming in terror himself. He rolled under the sedan as the claws went for him again. The talons raked gouges along the earsplitting metal, giving Alex a clue where the other gashes had come from, had he paid attention and not been terrified from all reasonable thought.

_Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!!_

The monster had him trapped, and it knew it. The sedan seemed all too fragile as it leapt into the top, bouncing the car on its weak shocks. Alex flattened himself after getting nipped in the head by some metal tube, while trying to keep his body as close to the center of the vehicle as possible. Alex's screams decayed into whimpers the longer the car bounced. The thing shrieked in what Alex could have sworn was joy as it rocked the car back and forth, the wheels coming a few more millimeters off the blacktop each time.

_That...that...whatever it is...is going to flip the car!_

All he wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and wait for the bad dream to end, but the bouncing vehicle on top of him did little to encourage that fantasy. The left tires came a full foot and a half off the ground before slamming back down, Alex screaming all the more, but an idea came to mind. The right tires raised and in a spur of bravado, the man rolled out from under the car before the rubber wheels hit the asphalt again. When the car tilted to the right a moment later, he had a clear view of the monster riding the car like a surfboard. The shotgun came up and Alex squeezed the trigger. There was less than ten feet between him and it, so even a horrible marksman like him could grasp the concept of point and squeeze. The muzzle roared and the reptilian thing screeched as it toppled off and the left side came back down as Alex's body was pressed into the pavement from the force of the shot. There was a sickening crunch and a loud bang, almost like another gunshot, followed by another scream from the opposite side of the car. Alex scrambled to his feet awkwardly and made his way around the back to find the monster floundering in its own greenish blood. The right arm was crushed and trapped beneath the left rear wheel. The tire had blown out, which had been the bang he had heard, on the thing's hide, burning it before the rim bit into the limb and held it in place. Alex stayed his distance from the flailing claws of the intact left arm. He saw the effect of his shot, small oozing holes sprayed across its left arm, face, and neck.

_Better put it out of its misery...I wouldn't want to be left trapped like that in pain..._

Though, when he thought about it, the screams seemed more enraged that pained. The man cocked the shotgun again and climbed onto the trunk and out of its reach. He leveled the shotgun with its head and pulled the trigger, the blast knocking him on his backside again and obliterating the monster's head. In a way, Alex was glad he had fallen, as he slid off the trunk. He didn't want to see the splattered remains of reptile monster brains. He pumped the shotgun again and looked up the bridge. Mismatched eyes saw at least three more hunched shapes, maybe more, making their way towards him in the distance. His blurred vision couldn't distinguish specific features, but it was enough to get him moving in the opposite direction to get off the bridge. This was defiantly not the way to go. He had to find another escape route.


	5. Rescue?

Righteous Anarchy

Chapter 5: Rescue?

Lilah sat on the couch, her hands over her ears and legs pulled tightly against her chest. The woman's eyes were screwed shut as she prayed over and over again, trying with all her might to shut out the unearthly sounds coming from the door. She had tried to get out, but the door back into the residential area was jammed. It had a bad habit of doing that every few days. Only this time there was no one on the other side that had listened to her pleas for help as she banged her small hands on the solid door. There were no other doors out of the room except that one and the front entrance, where the sick man was trying to get in. He scared her. She wanted to help him, to cure him of his disease, but he didn't listen to her when she spoke to him through the glass storm door, tinted red by the pawing of his bloody and raw hands. All he did was moan with an unholy hunger and scrape his fingers across the glass in vain attempts to get inside, to get to her. There was a loud crash and tinkling of small glass fragments as the storm door shattered under the sick man's incessant scouring. Now he was just on the other side of the wooden front door, only yards away from the frightened woman.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Lilah winced in fear each time it beat on the door, panic slowly rising in her chest. Like the clawed hand of a demon, the fingers of dread slowly wrapped around her young heart, applying just a bit of pressure, increasing with each passing moment.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Her breathing steadily quickened as her strangled heart became more tightly gripped. Sweat moistened her palms, her hands slipping against each other as she clasped them tightly together as she struggled to continue her prayer. Dampness beaded on her feverous brow, making her feel grimy and dirty. A wave of nausea passed over her as she curled into a tight ball on the couch, feeling the rough material on her cheek send unpleasant tingling sensations radiating across her face.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Eyes shut to the world as each clout from the door reverberated through her terror-stricken mind. She was hyper-ventilating now, breaths coming and leaving in short, quick gasps leaving her light headed as carbon dioxide invaded her lungs and oxygen became scarce in her brain as well as her other extremities.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Words of prayer formed on her now pale lips as sweat coated her face in a fine sheen reflecting the light of the overhead fixture, but instead they became a plea.

"Please stop...please, make it go away...someone help me...God, please help me..."

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

The silence seemed to mock her unanswered whimpering for aid, laughing at her as the woman's small body shuddered violently with chills and quiet sobs forced hot tears down her reddening cheeks.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Lilah's weeping grew in volume, threatening to choke her, curled as she was in the fetal position, until she screamed, the fear clamping one cruel hand on her heart and the other on her fragile mind. Then, they squeezed even tighter.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

(Page Break)

They hadn't followed him, well, that he knew of. Alex sighed as he walked cautiously back up Frankfort towards the Police Station. He was going to try the Manhattan Bridge next, about half a mile's walk from where he was now. A sound permeated the muggy, early morning air. It was a continuous thumping, rhythmic beating at a mechanical pace coming from the Jersey side of the island. Alex turned and looked up at the light gray sky to see the black shapes of helicopters, at least six of them bearing the Umbrella logo fly overhead and disperse throughout the city. One headed southeast of him, just a block away. It was flying low, most likely for a landing.

_UBCS...Umbrella's clean up crew..._

_More like containment..._

_Maybe they can help me get out of here. It is there job after all..._

_Their job is to cover Umbrella's mistakes, not help people..._

_It's worth a try..._

_It's your funeral..._

Alex ignored the voice, knowing that he would rather be with guys with guns that might help him rather than lizard creatures with claws that were trying to kill him. He started jogging to the end of the block, guessing that a right turn on Seaport would put him near wherever the chopper was landing. The man made his way past the NYPD, noting that the undead were milling aimlessly on the grounds, moaning and groaning. He quickened his pace slightly. Once on Seaport, the sounds of the helicopter's engine gave him enough direction. It had landed on top of a large apartment building to deposit its load of soldiers and that's where Alex marked his destination, and ticket to freedom. The entrance to the building was less than a block away, but there was a slight problem.

Three of the walking dead were right at the way in. One had broken the glass storm door and was pounding at the wood before it, its hands smacking wetly on the hard surface leaving red streaks and handprints. As Alex moved closer, he could hear a feminine voice inside, screaming hysterically.

_Someone's lost it..._

_I still should help them..._

_It is on the way..._

The two unoccupied corpses began their slow shuffle towards him, sightless eyes seeking him out as rotting hands mindlessly groped the air before them, reaching for their next meal. Alex raised the shotgun awkwardly, unsure of how to position it with the wooden stock cracked. It hadn't fared well when he hit the reptilian thing upside its head with it. He braced it against the base of his shoulder and pointed the barrel at the nearest target's head, thinking that was how the people in movies killed zombies so why not try it here. He squeezed the trigger, blinking reflexively at the loud bang, and found himself shoved to the ground from the heavy kick back from the weapon. His ears rang from the gun's roar, his right shoulder throbbed, and the entire arm tingled with the shock.

"That's gonna bruise..." Alex muttered to himself darkly as he sat up, slightly dazed. The corpse was now officially a corpse, the majority of its head now in small squishy pieces scattered over the pavement. Its partner had also fallen to the black road, several pellets from the blast having bored into its decomposing brain. Alex looked to the remaining assailant, who had ceased knocking on the door when it heard the gun discharge, from his position on the ground. It walked his way, stumbling on the curb and nearly falling in the process.

_Idiot! Are you going to stand up or sit on your ass like a good little person-burger!_

Again, he ignored the voice, but still managed to get to his feet. He placed his legs at a wider stance and held the stock tighter against his shoulder this time before aiming at the cadaver, not wanting to get knocked to his tail every time he fired the gun. Alex pumped the spent shell out and waited for the once-human creature to come closer. He had no idea how many shells were already loaded, and had no extras with him, so he wanted to use as few as possible. When Bloody Hands was less than four feet away, he squeezed the trigger. Again he winced at the explosion from the barrel, but he stayed upright this time and the zombie went down, lacking the right half of its head. The empty shell sprang from the gun and clattered hollowly onto the road.

Alex let the gun hang in his right hand and probed the extensiveness of his bruised shoulder with the left while making his way to the door. It looked as if it was bleeding; taking punishment to protect that which was within its confines. The thought made Alex shudder. Glancing around to see if there were any more threats, he opened the destroyed storm door and tried the bloodstained knob, but it was locked. Alex rapped his knuckles on the wood sharply, trying to get the person's attention inside.

_This better be worth it..._

The woman inside had stopped screaming while he had taken out the diseased carriers, but whether that was good or bad, he didn't know. There was no answer. He picked a spot that was free of blood and pressed his ear to the door. It was very faint, but he could hear a muffled sobbing from the other side. He knocked again, this time a bit softer so he wouldn't scare whoever was in there.

"Hello? Hello? The dead people are gone," The words didn't sound as confident as they had in his head. He felt like he was talking to a child, but then, the whimpering from the room did sound fairly candid. "You can open the door, it's safe now."


End file.
